When we sing of Christian brotherhood, who gets to join the chorus?

What I saw while pledging and depledging a Christian fraternity in 2008.

[UPDATE: I got a phone call from the former president of the fraternity. He had been alerted to my posts that morning and called me after reading to apologize for what happened all those years ago. He was very humble and gracious and the apology meant a lot.]

In the fall of 2008, I pledged a Christian fraternity. What I saw shocked me and left scars long after the bruises and cuts healed. There were moments that easily fit the definition of hazing.

I think it’s important to talk about this now—even if the pledging process may have changed considerably—because I think my experience speaks to some of the ways harmful behaviors get excused or even celebrated in the name of Christianity. The mix of fraternity culture and religious culture is a toxic one.

This is a story about the lengths people will go to find belonging. A story about the toll of unquestioned traditions. But this is also a story about how I came to know myself better, know others and know God.

I was inspired to write this after reading Brad Land’s searing memoir, “Goat,” and have adopted his style of writing in the first-person present tense. When I was pledging, these groups were called “social clubs” but are now referred to as “fraternities.” I will use that term since it is one people are more familiar with.

I journaled extensively during this period and have used those entries as the basis for this accounting. I’ve changed the names of those involved and the name of the fraternity.

I’ve been waiting to tell this story for a long time.

There are broken shards of watermelon along the steps of the outdoor amphitheater. Not far from where the watermelon made impact with the concrete is the body of a member of Gamma Phi Deo who has just fainted. Is this part of the event? Is he in need of medical attention? It’s unclear.

This scene greets us as we wait for the first event of Bid Night in the early fall of 2008. We are pledges, siblings as we are to be called, and we number around 30. I take my position on the concrete steps wearing a tan suit, dress shirt, terrible tie and olive pants. All bought from Goodwill because this will be the only time I wear them. I will be sweating in these for the next two hours while holding up a watermelon in the late afternoon heat.

This is part of the initiation into a fraternity on my college campus. I signed up for this. I think it will be worth it. Gamma Phi Deo is one of the larger fraternities on campus, known for being good guys, smart guys, guys with character. I want to be one of them. One of the guys.

We are not just holding watermelons. We take breaks by doing push-ups, squats, and any number of exercises. In the heat. While wearing bad suits. We also take part in chants.

“Siblings, spell unity.”

“S-I-B-L-I-N-G, sir!”

“Siblings, spell sibling.”

“U-N-I-T-Y, sir!”

“Unity” is a big theme of pledging and it’s intertwined with our roles as siblings. We quickly learn the alternate spellings.

“Siblings, what is the purpose of pledging?”

“To know yourself, to know others, to know God, sir!”

“Siblings, what is the easiest part of pledging?”

“Watermelons, sir!”

Nearly two hours pass. The watermelons are laid to rest but my anxiety is not.

Behind the amphitheater steps is a gleaming white structure, four massive arches converging at a point like the crossing of a cathedral. It is a cathedral, of sorts. Because what is about to happen is very sacred.

We enter the atrium and huddle in tightly.

Light filters in from the towering windows that begin at the ground, continue skyward before gracefully curving and descending back down. Our voices echo off the walls until we are called to silence.

The song of Gamma Phi Deo is about to be sung:

“We believe in Christian brotherhood. It’s what we’re about.”

The members all sing as their voices are heightened by the acoustics of the room. The pledges are silent, this is not our song to sing yet. But after the next several weeks, we will learn this song and it will be ours. I look forward to the day I can join this chorus.

---

I stepped onto campus as a freshman with enormous expectations of what my college experience should be. I wanted to get a good education, but I also wanted deeply to belong.

I was never really “one of the guys” in high school, or at least that’s how I perceived myself. Pledging my sophomore year was my chance to change that.

I envisioned fraternity membership would be my chance to make lifelong bonds with other guys. I imagined I would end up in a house with my fellow fraternity brothers my junior and senior year.

But I also wanted to be seen as someone who had it all together. In the most basic of terms, I wanted to be cool.

I made the decision to pledge Gamma Phi Deo, or GPD, because of their reputation. I liked them. They seemed to like me. When I was considering a bid, I got a personal letter from the fraternity president, Brad. I was living in a dorm “pod” with eight guys and four of the others were also pledging GPD. And I wanted deeply to belong in the pod as well.

There were guys in the fraternity I looked up to. Like Patrick, who was in the year above me. He was also a broadcast journalism major, charismatic, funny. These were the guys I wanted to be like. These were the guys I wanted to be friends with.

I had no idea what I was getting into. I had naively assumed the pledging process would be similar to what my dad had gone through at Lubbock Christian University—one week of mildly embarrassing activities. Minimal intense physical activity.

I also had not planned well. I signed up for a course load of 16 hours that semester. Plus a lab. Plus commitments to the student newspaper. I simply did not comprehend what I was getting into pledging a fraternity, and part of that was because I did not ask around.

There were moments during the lead-up to Bid Night that I could feel this bond was becoming real. I remember before the final event during the bidding process, the coffees, the five members of my dorm pod got ready together. One podmate, Mike, helped me adjust my tie. We put our suits on and looked very respectable.

This was really happening. I was finally going to be “one of the guys.”

---

The singing of the fraternity’s song concludes. Orders are barked.

We are rounded up into cars, two siblings at a time. We have our heads down to keep us from seeing where we’re going. I’m dehydrated and sniffling. One of the members in my car asks if I’m OK. I say yes, just allergies. I realize it sounds like I’m barely crying.

We get to our second location and line up, our nose to the back of the sibling in front of us. We are very close. We are told we will get close to one another over the coming weeks. That the relationships we form will be close friends for the rest of our lives. I hope so. But right now I’m starving and dehydrated.

We are having dinner at a hotel across town. It’s fully catered and we are told to eat up as much as possible. As we eat, a member comes around and asks which movie we want to watch later, implying that it will be the evening’s activity. Something tells me this is a farce.

As the eating portion is winding down, the siblings are told to line up near the front, to stand on a chair one-by-one and say whatever a current pledge has told us. I am first. I stand on the chair and as confidently as I can muster, introduce myself.

“I’m Ryan Self, and I…”

Immediately, the whole room starts to roar with disapproval. I am no longer Ryan Self. I am Sibling Self. I outwardly laugh it off in surprise but inwardly I hope I’m not screwing this up.

“I’m Sibling Self. Hey Zach, I found a pair of golf clubs in the lake if you want any.” The room is now roaring with laughter as this is some inside joke among the group. When I was told to repeat this, I didn’t have the slightest idea what it meant. But the laughter helps ease my nerves.

Dinner is over and we return to the cars, two siblings per car. I am in the back seat with another pledge, a current member in between us. We are holding our heads down and he is holding us tightly, affectionately, as if he’s aware of something terrible that’s about to happen. The comfort of the embrace is a stark contrast to the harshness of the heavy metal music blaring at full volume. I am about to understand why, yes, watermelons is the easiest part of bid night.

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We reach our destination and are told to get out. We are outside a church, but God knows where. When we were holding watermelons, we were in the daylight. But now we are far from campus and the darkness is setting in. It is about to get darker still.

We go inside to a small sanctuary where the lighting is dim and the mood is somber, reverent. The members are on the right side of the aisle and the siblings are on the left. We have a short church service with singing and a sermon by a fraternity alumnus. We are then introduced to other alumni who have gone through what we will go through. These are businessmen, pastors, pillars of their community.

Then, one by one, we are called to the stage to meet our big brothers in the fraternity, who will be shepherding us through the pledging process. I am greeted by Greg, who I’ve gotten to know a bit during the course of rushing. I also find Ben, a military veteran who I talked to briefly during the coffee.

The ritual is over. The church service is concluded. We are told we have only a few minutes to change out of our terrible suits and into the white t-shirts and jeans we brought.

In a sign of just how unprepared I am for the night, I realize everyone else has brought a change of shoes. Regular shoes you would wear for strenuous activity. I just have my dress shoes with me and I am inwardly panicking.

We are once again herded into cars, once again with our heads down for what seems like miles and miles. When we get out, we are far from whatever town we were in, far from any town, really. The sky is dark and the only light is that coming from the vehicles that brought us and the flashlights all around us.

Darkness is shrouding a lot of activity.

We are told to jog up the road until we are told to stop. I am now deeply regretting not bringing a change of shoes. We stop, take a breath, and then return to where we started. This is just to get our heart rate up.

The members split us up into smaller groups, with two members assigned to each group. One of leaders is a guy named Zach, who is in the year above me. One of the members of this smaller groups of pledges is one of my podmates, Craig. I barely know the others.

When the horn sounds, the two members guide us as we run to the first station—or “fires” as they are called. Our first stop is a place where we are asked if we have any prayer requests for the evening. If this is how the night goes, it may not be so bad.

But I am wrong. The next fire is intensely physical. From the light of a small bonfire and a spotlamp, we see a mud pit about a foot deep. We get into it. Once in the mud pit, we do a number of exercises, calisthenics. My shoes are becoming a problem. They are barely staying on. Because I am a product of Lubbock, Texas, I try to communicate this by telling the members I am wearing “church shoes” since that is how I talk. When the members start to realize what I’m saying, they’re unsure how to respond.

The night doesn’t seem to end. It is one fire after another. We flip massive tires as a group. We trudge through mud pits. We crawl through streams. At one point I land on my head after falling from about chest height and the members are worried I have a concussion. They shine a flashlight into my eyes. They ask me questions. I hesitate, not because there is anything wrong with me, but because even this brief moment is a break from the intense physical activity.

We arrive at a triangular trench a few feet deep. We are told to get in. We are directed to do bear crawls until told to stop. We do. At one point the members leave but tell us to keep going even though they won’t be watching. Of course, we stop. The members return and use the moment to lecture us about integrity, which is what you do when no one is watching.

Real men of integrity would have kept trudging in the mud—because it’s what they were told to do. I’m getting the sense my understanding of integrity is different from theirs.

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Half the fires are intensely physical and are meant to impart virtues, like integrity. The other half are meant to provide rest.

We reach one fire that is all humor. This is the John Quince fire. John is a legend within Gamma Phi Deo and we are regaled with tales of his pranks and sometimes risky behavior.

I know John Quince. He was my youth minister growing up. Until he was fired for being insubordinate and consistently engaging in reckless behavior while in charge of teenagers. But here he is revered almost as a saint.

The night is exhausting. My only focus is putting one foot in front of the other, even if both feet are still in “church shoes.” But my siblings are there to help me. At one point during the night, a fellow pledge, Jack, practically carries me from one fire to the next.

I can tell he is inspired by the night and the epic journey we are on. But while his courage is infectious, I am having deep second thoughts about signing up for this.

Throughout the night, members pull us aside to talk. At one fire, a member I barely know pulls me aside to tell me he sees leadership qualities in me. He does not pull everyone aside.

Another fire gives us the opportunity to meet individually with the president, Brad, and the former president of the fraternity, Jake. They are encouraging. A Bible major, Brad is warm, which is a comfort amidst the agony of the night’s activities. He tells me they really want me in the fraternity. He might say this to everyone, but it feels genuine.

We have just finished our tenth fire. We all gather as one after having spent the night in our separate groups. When one of the members tells us congratulations, we made it through Bid Night, I grip his upper arm and ask him intensely, “Promise me you aren’t joking.”

We try to wash off what mud we can before getting into the vehicles that will drive us home. It is around 4 a.m. when we finally arrive back on campus, nearly 12 hours after the night’s activities began with the watermelons. I try to wash off the remaining mud, but it will be a long time before I can wash away the memories.

Every joint aches. I get into bed, something I had been yearning for all night, but sleep does not come easily. The aching muscles keep me awake, along with the flashbacks of what had happened just hours before.

I was a student athlete in high school, a swimmer. For three years, I woke up every morning at 5 a.m., drove across town, then practiced for almost two hours. We lifted weights twice each week.

But I had never experienced physical agony like this.

Bid Night was hard to get over. Even though I was safe in my dorm room, I still felt like at any minute one of the members would bust into my room and force me to do more strenuous activity. The memories of Bid Night entered into all my dreams and only after hours of interrupted sleep did I finally get some much-needed rest.

I wake up the next morning and find a text message from a member, Zach:

Congratulations, men. You’re one step closer to becoming the man God wants you to be.

God wants this?

I embark on the short walk from my dorm to the cafeteria for breakfast. It feels like miles. Walking down two flights of stairs and across campus made each step a reminder of the pain I had endured the night before.

Back in the pod, I see Mike. We commiserate about our pledging experience. He tells me he heard some of the current members used one of the trenches as a latrine. The trenches we had to bear crawl through. The trenches in “Integrity Fire.”

Remember: Integrity is what you do when no one is looking.

He also tells me word has gotten around to the other members that I had powered through a concussion during Bid Night.

“Stuff like that gets you a lot of respect,” he says.

I debate whether to correct him. I’m uncomfortable with the idea powering through a concussion is something that gets you respect. I thought possessing integrity, honesty and character did that. Maybe I was wrong.

Monday morning arrives. I have barely slept since Bid Night, a mixture of anxiety and aches and pains all over. I get dressed, covering the bruises across my body with a crisp white dress shirt, slacks and a blue tie. This is the required attire for siblings on Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays.

I can barely concentrate during my 8 a.m. class. My brain is a fog and all I can think about is when I can lay down to get some rest. I am going to retain nothing in this condition.

In my emotional state, I decide to drop two classes I’m taking this semester. I’m overwhelmed. I can’t manage my course load and pledge a fraternity.

The first week of pledging coincides with an annual conference at the university. Members of the Christian tradition I was raised in—Churches of Christ—come from around the country to attend. Pastors, church leaders, elders, teachers—many who attended this university and went through this same process—are now here on this campus.

I want to walk up to them and ask, “Do you know what’s happening just off campus right now?”

The university I attend isn’t just a university. It is an extension of the larger Christian community I was raised in. My grandfather went here. My uncle went here. My cousin goes here. Nearly every member of my mom’s extended family attended a Church of Christ school.

And I cannot reconcile the values my faith community taught me and what is happening during the pledging process—a process that seems completely endorsed, or at least looked the other way from, the faith community I was raised in. I lost more than just my church shoes in the mud pits of Bid Night.

This isn’t just a mental crisis I’m going through—it’s a spiritual one.

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It’s Monday night and the siblings in our pod are gathered in the common room. We are dressed in our white t-shirts and jeans because we’re about to go through another round of physical activity. There is a camaraderie there, built on collective anxiety. Some of us stretch. Some of us are just trying to fight away the nerves about what’s coming.

We line up outside the library, nose to back. When we are all counted, we are told to run a lap around the campus. As we are coming back, we are rounded up into cars to take us to our next destination. My heart rate is up. I’m sweating. A combination of the run we just did and the anxiety about what happens next.

We arrive at our destination, an empty field in the middle of nowhere. We line up once again. But something is wrong.

A pledge is lying on the ground. He is one of the more athletic pledges, but right now he is bent over and clearly suffering.

Close by, I can hear two members talking about what happened. A current member had turned the heat all the way up in the car on the ride over, causing the pledge to become severely dehydrated.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” one of the members says.

This is how the night begins. We are told we are far from the watchful eyes of the university president.

We are marched over to a large concrete slab, about the size of a basketball court. This is 68 night. Gamma Phi Deo was founded in 1968. And for more than an hour, we are going to do all manner of physical exercises—68 rounds at a time. 68 pushups. 68 sit-ups. 68 jumping jacks.

As we are enduring this, we are shouting out the fraternity’s Bible verse, Psalm 133:

How good and pleasant it is
when God’s people live together in unity!

It is like precious oil poured on the head,
running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron’s beard,
down on the collar of his robe.
It is as if the dew of Hermon
were falling on Mount Zion.
For there the Lord bestows his blessing,
even life forevermore.

Where is the pledge from the overheated car? Is he still crumpled on the ground? And where is his Christian brother that turned up the heat on him?

If the group is unable to fully recite the verse, more exercises are demanded. This is in direct violation of the code of conduct, which states pledges cannot be punished for failing to memorize something. But as one of the members said at the beginning, we are far from campus and far from the watchful gaze of university leadership.

During a break, while we are given a moment to rest, I make eye contact with Patrick. Just hours before we were in a class, Basic News, where he served as a teaching assistant. My eyes are wide and they are saying, “Is this really happening?” In a consoling voice, he tells me to keep my hands on my head to help with the oxygen flow. I’ve looked up to Patrick, like I have many of these guys. But I’m starting to question why.

At the end of the night, before we are rounded back up to head to campus, one of the fraternity leaders has a stern message for us: The sibling who had been subjected to an extremely hot car sat out tonight’s activity. What he endured is not addressed. The stern warning is not for the members, it is for the pledges. We are not to give the sibling a hard time.

That’s it!? You won’t address how a member harmed a pledge and how that is unacceptable? We’re getting the lecture!?

---

Tuesday morning arrives, and I miss my 9:30 a.m. class. Pledging is not only taking a toll on my body, it is taking a toll on my education.

I am aching all over. Sleep has been elusive. There is only so much Tylenol I can take. There is only so much pain I can take.

Once again, I cover the bruises and scrapes with the required attire. Tuesdays and Thursdays are khaki pants and a blue or green polo.

A few of my podmates and I run an errand for the fraternity. The topic of depledging comes up.

“What would you have to do to depledge?” I ask as innocently as possible.

“I would kill you if you depledged,” Mike says, half jokingly.

The others say this process is brutal, but they feel like, for them, they would be letting so many people down—the close friends already in the fraternity. It’s a reminder how some of the guys have grown up in church youth group with the members. Their bond goes back years.

I don’t have that. The relationships I’ve made are very new. And my question about depledging is one I’m asking more and more each day.

Later that afternoon, my phone rings. I respond as I’ve been instructed, “Reo, Reo, Reo, Gam Nitty Gritty, you’re talking to the boy who resides in the key city this is Sibling Self, how may I serve you?” On the other end is my older brother in the fraternity telling me to come to his house.

I knock on the door, apprehensive. The door opens and my older brother in the fraternity, very physically fit, and his two housemates are in what appear to be only towels. I step inside. There are jokes about the awkwardness of the situation. The homoerotic nature of the situation.

When the humor subsides, we sit on the couch. Now the conversation is serious. There’s been a hot topic the members want my thoughts on.

“Would you be comfortable if there was a gay guy in the fraternity?”

They are asking because this is not hypothetical. Someone recently tried to pledge the fraternity and had confided to the members that he was attracted to guys.

“What if you were standing nose to back in a line with the guys and you felt the guy behind you get an erection?”

I try to laugh to mask my discomfort. Can they see me sweating? Is it too obvious how uncomfortable I am? Because what I won’t divulge to them, and what I won’t admit to myself for at least two more years, is that I’m gay. And I am learning in real time what happens when you share that vulnerable information.

The decision had been, no, someone like that cannot be part of the fraternity. This is a Christian brotherhood. No gays allowed.

Even though they don’t reveal the name, I know exactly who they are talking about. Because only one person was denied a bid. It’s rare for a guy not to receive a bid from his preferred fraternity, especially when that guy is a model student, a member of the student government association, outgoing, charming and everything you would think a fraternity would be looking for.

But being attracted to guys is a mark against you that can’t be overlooked.

When we sing of Christian brotherhood, some voices are not allowed to join the chorus.

It will be years before I will be able to remember this moment. I will black it out.

---

Tuesday evening arrives and, mercifully, this is not a night of intense physical activity. This is intramural night, where we are to cheer on our fraternity in flag football.

Earlier in the evening, Patrick called me to help film the JV game. I’m honored he thought of me, to be relied upon. But also apprehensive as I’m not into football and likely will have no idea what I’m filming.

Tonight, we are playing our rivals, Galactica. The animosity among these two Christian fraternities runs deep. The Galactica pledges have unfurled a banner that reads, “We’re better than you.”

During the game, I sit next to Nick. He is a regular presence in our dorm pod and someone I hoped to get to know better through the fraternity. We have a class together, and we talk about that. If pledging is an avenue to make friends with people like Nick, maybe this will all be worth it. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

At halftime, things get weird. One of the fraternity members has brought a hula hoop. And sets it on fire. Pledges are invited to jump through the fiery hoop for the entertainment of the members. It is stressed that this is purely voluntary. But when you’re trying desperately to fit in, is anything truly voluntary? If you know that allegedly powering through a concussion gets you respect, how much respect will you get for jumping through a fiery hoop?

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Wednesday morning arrives. Once again I cover up my scrapes and bruises with a white dress shirt, khaki pants and a green tie. But this may be the last time.

I cannot sleep. I am filled with anxiety. I am missing classes. I am not remotely sure why I am doing what I am doing.

I want to depledge. But how?

The day goes by, each hour getting closer to another evening of physical activity. I cannot imagine going through another evening.

I hatch a plan. With the help of my roommate and another friend, I will sneak off campus before the night’s activities and hide out at Walmart.

Around the time of the night’s activities, the phone calls begin. One after another. I ignore them. They keep coming. Then there are voicemails.

My big brother in the fraternity calls. I decide to answer. How am I to explain to a military veteran that I can’t go through any more physical activity? But he is understanding and encourages me to keep with it.

Another member calls. He wants to get lunch tomorrow just to talk. The tone of these conversations isn’t anger, but encouragement. But that is about to change.

Finally, I get a call from the fraternity president, Brad. He says to call him immediately. I do, figuring now is the time to bite the bullet and officially depledge.

“Sibling Self, why weren’t you there tonight?”

“I’ve decided I want to depledge.”

“So you just didn’t show up? That shows a real lack of integrity.”

His words sting. This is a knock on my character. I have watched members subject pledges to overheated cars, endangering their health and safety. I have heard of members peeing in trenches that pledges will trudge through. I have seen all number of university rules disregarded. I’ve witnessed this Christian brotherhood reject a gay pledge and then essentially out him.

But I am the one with a lack of integrity.

“I didn’t know how to depledge.”

Brad then informs me of the process I must follow to depledge: First, I must write a letter explaining why I am depledging and share that with my fellow pledges. Then, I must also share that letter with the faculty sponsors. I must also meet individually with at least three of the fraternity officers to explain in person why I am depledging. And I must do all of this before 2 p.m. tomorrow.

Once he confirms I understand, he hangs up on me. He is a Bible major preparing for a life in ministry.

I return to my dorm room and head straight to bed. I want to pretend to be asleep before my podmates return. But I am unsuccessful.

The podmate I am most concerned about is Mike. And he is the first to enter my room. “Is Ryan here?” he asks my roommate. But his voice isn’t one of anger, it is one of concern. He asks me what happened and I tell him I’ve decided to depledge. He is more understanding than I thought he would be.

After Mike comes Griffin. He wants to know what’s wrong. He wants me to keep with it. He gives me a hug. I’ve bonded with Griffin but I don’t think I can go through with this.

I wasn’t expecting this rush of encouragement from other members and pledges. But I also wasn’t expecting my character to be questioned by the fraternity president. There is no way I can complete his list of requirements in order to depledge.

Do I really want to depledge? Can I push down my revulsion to this process and stick with it? As I try to fall asleep in the darkness, I have no idea what to do next.

I’m hoping this story will start some conversations/reflections about the pledging process. I realize these conversations have been ongoing for years and I’m just adding my perspective. If you have memories that differ or want to discuss, I’m happy to hear from you at ryanclarkself@gmail.com.